Last updated: Dec 27th
If a lioness could write a story I would have written mine for all to see. I would have opened eyes to the world; to its harsh realities and its wondrous magic that isn’t really magic at all. I would have shown the world that you cannot judge someone by their colour, their pride or their history. What makes a lion is his heart and in each of us there is a will to do good, I will believe that so long as my soul remains here. No matter how evil or cruel one might seem, they have a heart and soul like all of us and so long as they do they have the ability to love. In my short life I learned this. I saw evil and I saw good and yet even to those who have wronged me, I feel no anger, no hatred. I feel sadness, sadness that they refuse to open their hearts to those who might call them friends. We should not hate them, we should pity them; offer them kindness if they accept it. That is the key to peace. That is the key to happiness.
I was naïve in life, I realise that now. Maybe I still am by thinking these whispered words will touch anyone’s heart. Even still, if I can do one good thing in life to uphold my memory then this is it; my story, told through the eyes of an innocent thrown into a world of corruption.
And like most stories I will start from the beginning, back when I was a tiny cub, born to Bakhti and Mahiri of the Pridelands.
Both of my parents had been rogues, wandering the lands like ghosts searching for their place to belong. They found one another on the borders and fell for one another. Then, with their love binding them they found home in the lands shadowed by the great pinnacle of Priderock. Back then the lands were ruled by the great king and queen; Mufasa and Sarabi. The pride was small, all but dying before the first sets of cubs came into the world. My brother and I were amongst the first of the cubs, along with the royal litter.
I was born a sickly runt who came out tail-end first. My mother told me how small and weak I was, how she feared that I wouldn’t make it. I probably wouldn’t if the litter had been any bigger. Luckily, with just two cubs, Mchele and I, demanding attention I made it through. One thing was for sure, I never let my size stop me from doing anything. I might have been small but my desire for life was strong. I was a survivor.
So, my family, huddled in the den at Priderock were sheltered and safe, the outside world unknowing to the new life stirring inside. I, too, was unaware of what grand world lay outside, my eyes shut tightly closed for the first couple of weeks of my life. All I was aware of was the sounds of my parent’s words and the mewling of my brother. I think, looking back, those first few days were the most beautiful of all my life. There is nothing so pure and innocent as a cub who has not even laid eyes on her adoring parents and instead feels their love through just being close.
Then my eyes opened and the world was revealed to me, slowly at first. Every morning my brother would complain about my incessant wriggling waking him up. I giggled, babbled apologies but really I quite liked waking him up. I was eager to see the world and could never understand why he would want to sleep so much. We strengthened, played across the floor of the den, learning skills that we would use later in life. Those games were short-lived, both of us tiring quickly, but they helped us grow stronger; preparing us for the day we could step out into the world that awaited us.
My mother’s kindly, beautiful face watched over us and father was always providing. He called me his princess and every time he came back to the den he would greet me as if I was the most special creature in the world. Every time it would be, “Nice to see you're awake, princess” and I would be filled with such joy.
We learned words slowly, practising every new one daily. Every word was an achievement, something to be proud of and our parents always seemed to beam as we practised. Soon we were bumbling words all over the place and making little demands that were always met. Who could blame them, we did have cute faces!
Brother was known as ”Mmmm-chell” and his name was the first word I learnt, though it was a little shaky at first. Despite that, even when I could pronounce it properly I often lapsed into childish habits. Being the only two, we were closer than most siblings and we trusted one another explicably. Mchele didn’t have a bad bone in his body. He was gentle and sweet and even when he teased me it was easy to forgive him.
One day I woke to find Mchele gone, and being a normal curious cub, I wandered outside to look for him, calling “Mmm-chell!” as I went. Well it didn’t take him long to find me, licking my face to quieten me no doubt. I smelt the stranger on his fur and puffed up instantly! To think of any stranger going near by family was a frightening prospect. Anything I wasn’t familiar with was scary and there was no way I wanted anyone coming near the den. Mother had warned us about the dangers of the outside world and I wasn’t about to disobey her by going out by myself and approaching strange lions. Mchele, however, was not so cautious. I tried to catch his tail between my teeth but he evaded and I pounced after him, rolling us into another of our little wrestling matches. At one point I had him pinned and his little voice squeaked out my name, “Kiiib, Kib!” He really was wimpy for a boy! Even so, we tired quickly and the game ended light-heartedly.
For the next few weeks my brother and I spent the days exploring the surrounding area, trotting at our parents’ sides as they showed us around. They taught us all sorts of things, about the insects, about rain and about the sun. We discovered the taste of grass and soon after that, the taste of meat. My father brought home a carcass and I have to admit it scared me at first. It didn’t scare me when I realised how nice it tasted! After that we grew quickly, our bellies full of something more substantial than mother’s milk. But even with my increasing confidence I rarely left mother and father and certainly never went out of sight. The world was too huge for me back then, too scary. I liked my sheltered little life; my family and the den. I was happy and as far as I was concerned it was all I needed.
That changed the day I met the lion who I can now call my best friend.
I woke one morning to the soft snores of my family, curled up in the safety of our home. I tried with all my might to fall back to sleep but it just wasn’t working. So, eventually I stepped out into the sunshine. Try to picture a land that is fresh and pure, a land that is green and blue. That was the view I had from my den, the view of the lush life that existed within the Pridelands. Even then, when I had seen the picture so many times before, it astounded me. My slate-blue eyes would widen, drink up everything before me as if I would never see it again. That morning, however, something interrupted the green and blue; something as bright and cheerful as the sun. I stepped towards it, thinking it a flower at first. It wasn’t. I lowered my head to sniff its delicate scent to find it leaping up at my face. I screeched, rolled back and then realised, much to my awe, that it was not a flower at all. Later I’d learn it was called a butterfly, but at that moment I had no idea what it was. Still, it was so beautiful and I couldn’t help but follow it…and then crush it beneath my paws!
I didn’t notice him until that pebble rattled towards me.
He was the same age as I was, built slightly bigger due to being a boy. His fur, however, was unlike any colour I had ever seen. It was so red that even to this day I haven’t seen a colour like it. He stuck out like a sore thumb, his piercing eyes watching me so intently that I felt he could see right through me. It wasn’t a kindly look and I felt suddenly panicky. I probably would have turned and fled then, but my stubbornness kept me rooted to the spot. I wanted to be strong just like my mother, strong so that no one could pick on me. Besides, this one was just a cub and my experience – though I only had Mchele to go by – was that cubs liked fun and games, not being mean! And then he spoke and our conversation stays with me even now.
He laughed, “wha, dun like the game?” His voice was so quiet but my ears were sharp and I heard him clearly.
“Game? Game rock?”
“Yes. A game involving rocks. See?”
“Game...involverrring rocks.” I stepped towards him and he got defensive, his whole body tensing. I thought he was afraid of me and couldn’t help but blurt out how happy it made me. It’s not that I liked being scary, but it was nice to think that I wasn’t looked down at. “Red Scare~edy.”
"I'm naught scared! At least I’m naught.. naught.." He frowned, "tiny and…and stupid. Gosh…and don't call me red. My name isn't red. Unless you wan’ me to call you Peach!"
His words upset me. Was I really so tiny and stupid that he didn’t want to play? I remember the tears pricking at my eyes and the lump in my throat. Then the tears turned to irritation. "I call Red what I want!" My fur puffed up but after a moment I rethought my actions and calmed, giving in if only to make a friend. "What name? I Kibu."
"M'name's Uumikaji. And you will call me Uumikaji, or something similar."
“Uuu-meee. Red easier to say.” I moved closer. “Where your mama an’ papa?”
"Uumi. Not red. And they're sleeping. In there." He nodded toward the den. "My mommy and daddy are /better/ than yours."
Those words, more than anything else, hurt me deeply. My family were everything to me. I adored them so much that it hurt. My mother could have been a Goddess the way I idolised her and my father, he was the big strong lion I relied on so much. My brother was the companion to keep the days from being lonely and together we were perfect. His hurtful words lodged something sharp and cold in my heart. I felt that unusual anger stir inside me, an emotion that I hadn’t felt before now and I yelled at him, I yelled on the top of my squeaky little voice. "No they not! My mama and papa are good as yours. Stupid Red!" And then I left him. I dashed back to my mother’s side and cried myself to sleep, confused and upset.
That day was the first day I met someone who wasn’t as cheerful as myself. It was the first day I thought of lions as mean and cruel. But I was wrong. Uumikaji was by no means a cheerful lion but he was kind-hearted and wise. I could not have asked for a better companion, and even though countless days passed by without seeing him once, I’ll always remember my joy at seeing a familiar face again. He was the flame of hope in the darkness; he was a reminder of my past when it had been slipping from my memory. He was there at the end when life drained away and above all he was my first and dearest friend.
After our first meeting, I didn’t see little Uumi for a long time. But every day my thoughts turned to him. I couldn’t help but wonder why he was so different to myself. I thought of his frowning face, his harsh eyes that had seemed almost sad. I wondered if maybe something was bothering him and whether he was in fact trying to hide his sadness beneath a mean exterior. I also thought about his ‘wonderful’ parents and whether they really were wonderful. Maybe he’d been abandoned or he wasn’t as loved as I was. But for all my questions I knew that they would not be answered, he certainly didn’t seem the type to talk about himself.
Time passed, I grew in mind and body. My body that had once been plump and fuzzy was now beginning to turn lean. Soon I would leave my ‘baby looks’ behind completely and enter into my juvenile era. But not yet, not yet. So much happened during cubhood that I can hardly believe it. But thinking hard enough it’s all there, everything. You don’t really forget the past, the days when you were so young that you understood nothing. We just choose to forget and look instead to the future. Now that I have no future, dwelling on the past is easier. I see things clearer now than perhaps I did even back then. I see how happy I was and how beautiful the world was.
I remember when we moved home, mother leading us to the peak of Priderock. The whole family was there, the troop moving up higher and higher. This was one place I hadn't been before and it truly was wonderful. If I had thought the scenery I had seen before was beautiful, the view from the pinnacle was the most magnificent yet! Land and land that stretched out as far as the eye could see. It was then, standing at the edge, that I realised how big the world was. Suddenly I was filled with an unstoppable curiosity and it swelled within me, growing with such vehemence that it could not be stopped.
And it was on this peak that I made many important discoveries.
It was on this very peak that I first met Sarabi, Queen of the Pridelands. Now, if I say the word queen to you, what image does it conjure in your mind? An almighty lioness with power and strength? A lioness who looks down on you from her beautiful throne? Well Sarabi was neither intimidating nor high and mighty. Sarabi was the most down-to-earth, motherly lioness I have ever met. She spoke to you as an equal, with kindness and intelligence. Her eyes were so beautiful, tinged with crimson but so gentle that you automatically felt safe being near her. She was like the grandmother I'd never had. I couldn't pronounce her name back then and gave in to calling her Sabi, having no idea that she was the queen. As far as I was concerned she was just a friend of mother's and any friend of mother's could be trusted completely. It wasn't long before I discovered the truth, though. Bakhti soon explained it and though I misunderstood at first, I don't think it matters. In the end, Sarabi was Sarabi and she was a dear friend of the family.
Because really, what does status matter when in the end we all end up in the same place. Those stars aren't just reserved for the great kings of the past. There was also a place for me, a normal lioness who did nothing and at the same time, everything.
In fact, thinking about it now, I also met my adopted brother that day too. Mchele and I left the safety of mother's side to stray this new land only to get ourselves utterly lost. In truth we hadn't gone far, but the strange landscape had us disorientated and our panicked mewling soon filled the air. We called for mother, desperate for her to find us. Mother didn't found us though. Instead a young lion called Danzi answered our pleas. He was an adolescent at the time, a fine young male with the most cheerful pelt I ever saw. He came at the sound of our frightened calls and offered to take us back to our mother. By then we were quite distraught, too upset to decline the offer from a strange lion. So, maybe a little foolishly, we agreed and soon I was clambering up to sit on the male's shoulders and he chauffeured us over to mother. My mother was beautiful and kind and she loved Danzi like her own son. It was no surprise, then, that Mchele and me took to him. He made the family brighter.
By the time we arrived Bakhti was speaking with another male. This one was older but not obviously so. He was named Sukutu and was another dear friend of mother's. In fact it was because of Sukutu that my mind set slowly began to change. On Priderock itself, that day during our first meeting, Sukutu told me a story that enchanted me.
"Me and some friends journeyed far away from here, where the ground is made of sand as golden as any Pridelander...and the sky seems to stretch on and on forever...”
His words, I never forgot them.
He had been on a journey outside of the Pridelands, travelled far and wide with a group of friends. He said he went to a desert, a place that was beautiful yet dangerous all at once. He told me of the Firekin, the legendary warrior lions who were strong and proud. Told me of their crimson fur, their sheltered lifestyle and how they were most unkind. He also told me of the Gods, and how they meddle in the lives of mortal lions. But I didn’t hear the warning in his voice. I only heard the adventure. I suddenly craved to see it for myself, to walk the sands, to maybe become a part of this warrior pride and become strong so my parents would be proud of me.
That was the day things changed for me and from then on I was desperate to learn the survival skills I needed. I would watch hunts, take part in them, ask mother questions about killing prey when you didn’t have friends to help you out. I think she was suspicious then but she never said anything. She answered all my questions and I drank up the knowledge greedily.
Time passed, and I grew from cub to juvenile. Every day I dreamed of that desert and the fierce lions I intended to impress. I was so naïve, so innocent. I had never known fear or violence, never even realised that it existed. To me, everything was a grand adventure to look forward to. If I had known what pain and terror was, I probably never would have gone, but my eyes were closed to everything but the good things in life. I was obsessed with adventure, my eyes soaking up the horizon as if I hoped it would drown me. I daydreamed about strange multi-coloured worlds and rainbow-pelted lions who would be my friends. I wanted to go there and see them. I was fed up of exploring the same old thing everyday. But of course there was one thing stopping me.
My family
I don't mean that in an awful way. Like I've said before, I adored my family and that's why I was hesitant to go anywhere. I didn't want to wake up without them close by. I didn't want to go days without hearing my mother's knowledgeable words. Besides I was still so small and the world was so big! I was scared too, though admittedly that uncertainty was fading with every day that passed.
I met with my brother one day, away from our parent’s sight, growing steadily more used to the outside world. In fact, I was beginning to love independence, cherishing the moment when mother would turn her back so I could go on adventures. The nervousness I felt when I went where I wasn’t supposed to sent my heart racing and I loved it. The adrenaline made me feel so alive, so strong and soon I was sneaking off all over the place. But I wasn’t the only one. My brother seemed to like his independence too and we often met when our parents weren’t looking.
On this occasion, I was extremely bored. I had taken a great interest in exploring the surrounding area and slowly I was beginning to learn it off by heart. Sometimes I would discover a new flower or a new insect that might grab my interest and then it would become old news again. On this day I met Mchele by chance and decided to practise my stalking techniques on him. It didn't work. He knew it was me instantly and I put on my usual pout.
I breached the subject with Mchele slowly, hinting at my intentions to leave in order to ease him into the idea. Mchele was unlike me in that sense. He was at home here, satisfied to stay in a familiar land that he knew. I think he thought it would always stay the same, always familiar. When he didn't take the bait I was forced to launch into the subject with a blunt declaration that had him stumped. He couldn't understand why I would want to leave. I had everything a lioness could want and more! But there was one thing I didn't have. Change. I wanted the scenery to change, the faces too. I wanted to walk the lands and experience the life that had been given to me. I couldn't do that in the Pridelands.
Mchele tried to persuade me not to go; he tried to tell me what I'd be missing out on and how our parents would feel if I left. But I was stubborn and I knew what I wanted.
"Maybe I will tell them...and if they try to stop me I'll go anyway. If they don't think I'm strong enough then I'll have to prove them wrong. I'll make them proud that they have a strong daughter."
Have I done that mother? Father? Did I make you proud?
It's all I ever wanted really, all I ever needed. To see the pride in your faces at all my success in life would have been a wonderful thing. Little did I know you were already proud of me. Looking back now I can see it, but then, then I felt like just another cub, fading into the crowd of a steadily growing pride.
In the end Mchele persuaded me to wait. I don't think I would have gone soon after that conversation anyway. Physically I wasn't ready for it. I still had a lot of growing to do, despite the fact that I had entered my juvenile stage. I knew I was growing because Mchele was. He had a tuft between his ears now and he looked bigger too. I tried to see if I had changed but I couldn't see it. To me, I looked the same little cub I had always been, one that was a little more lean than podgy, but the same none-the-less.
But I was growing and I was bigger, though I’d always be smaller than your average lioness.
Eventually, after a few weeks of desperately trying to learn how to fend for myself, my mother seemed to come to terms with what I was planning to do. She approached me and it was the first time I’d seen her face so troubled. There was a smile there but it was sad and her eyes, her eyes looked dark.
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